Almost
by Tiph Aileen
Summary: "I want to end it." He hesitates, and it hurts. His head hangs down his chest, he doesn't dare look her in the eyes, if he does he knows he won't have the courage to go to the end of it. He's weak, mind and body, his body shakes, he shivers and trembles in his mother's hold. He's afraid. Or, how to put pain and tears in words. Death fic.


First time I've ever cried writing a fanfiction.

(Careful, character death)

* * *

Marcus's state worsens, he now spends most of his days in his bed, or at least in his rooms, there is not a single moment when he doesn't feel pain ; violent headaches, muscles spasms, breathing issues, extreme cramps in the arms, legs and stomach. Patches of skin all over his body are covered in hives, he sometimes loses his balance and feels to his knees and hands, when he's standing that is, which has now become a rare occurrence. Then there's the mental. He forgets things, does and says things that don't make any sense, has mood changes, is depressed and refuses to eat. Sometimes he has these moments of clarity, when he realizes all that's happening to him, and to the people around him.

During one of those moments, he opens the door to his quarters, and asks one of the guards to fetch Abby. When she's here, he greets her with one sentence.

"I want to end it."

She doesn't believe him. He can see it in her eyes, it's written all over her face. She thinks he's in one of his _phases_ , as she calls it, and her first instinct is to walk closer and try to hug him to make him feel better, but he takes a step back.

"I'm serious, Abby. For the first time in a while, I know what's going on with me, the fog in my head is gone, and I need your help. There is no other way this time. No cure. So I won't suddenly get better, heal on my own, we both know that's not gonna happen. So why am I still here ? What's the point ? I suffer, and everyone around me does too. You, my mom, the kids… _This is no life_. But I don't want to do it behind your back, I don't want you, or anyone else, to go through the trauma of finding me one day in my room with my wrists slit open, or with a bullet between my eyes. I need your help. Please, help me. Help me end of all this."

By now, tears are running down her face, she realizes how serious he is, and how determined. Stubborn.

"There's still time, Marcus. Please, don't - don't make me… We'll find a way, I pro -"

"Wishful thinking isn't good science."

The sad smile he has when he says these words that come from another time is what breaks her. She crumbles, takes the two steps that separate them and she buries her head in his chest, sobbing against him.

It takes about a week. For her to find the right way, and for him to gather the courage to announce it to his mother. It's hard and heartbreaking, and now on top of everything else, he feels guilty. At one point in his explanation, the look on her face got so harsh and angry he thought for a moment she was going to slap him. She didn't, and never in her life did Vera lay her hands on him, and she wasn't about to begin that day. And yet. And yet, she has never wanted that much to knock some sense into him, but in the end, she understands. They all do. Bellamy, Octavia, Indra, Lincoln, Clarke, Sinclair, Raven, they all know, and they all understand.

This is why, eight days later, they are all waiting outside certain quarters, outside a closed door. All, except Marcus, Abby and Vera, _they_ are inside. Marcus made sure to have some quality time with each of his friends, sometimes cut short by throwing up blood, passing out or other consequences of the disease, but what he didn't want was a public scene. He didn't want them to see him take his last breath. No one protested.

"It's a drink. Tasteless, relatively fast, and most importantly, painless. My first thought was an injection but then I figured you wouldn't like the idea."

A light chuckle. A cough, some blood that is quickly wiped away by a shaking hand and a wet towel. The hand then goes back to its original place, on the back of his head, slowly stroking his hair.

He's on his bed, with a blanket up his waist. Abby is kneeling beside him, her fingers intertwined with his, in her other hand is a small glass. Vera is the one behind him. She's sitting with her back against the wall for support, and Marcus is laying against her chest, secured in her arms ; one of them is wrapped around his torso, and her hand firmly clasped in his.

Abby tries one more time.

"It's your choice, Marcus, you don't have to do this. No one will think less of you if you decide not to do it."

The thing is, he almost gives in. He almost tells her that he doesn't want to anymore, that he wants to fight the disease and maybe win, _he almost tells her he doesn't want to die_. It's the truth. For all the times he tried to sacrifice himself, for multiple reasons, he, just like every other human being, doesn't want to die. There's still so much to do. He wants to explore the Earth, he has seen so little of it, he wants to learn how to swim, taste as much food as possible, he wants to climb trees and experience life to its best with the woman he loves. A child, maybe. Two, now that it's possible.

He hesitates, and it hurts. His head hangs down his chest, he doesn't dare look her in the eyes, if he does he knows he won't have the courage to go to the end of it. He's weak, mind and body, his body shakes, he shivers and trembles in his mother's hold. He's afraid.

He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do. He's afraid of what comes after, for him, and for his loved ones. How they will handle it. He knows that for the ones waiting outside, it will be okay. That they will push through and have the full life they deserve. What worries him is the state of mind the two people in his room will be in.

He blames himself. He blames himself for all the pain he's going to put them through. It hurts just to think about Abby crying over his body, wondering if she's cursed and if she'll ever be able to love again, to think about his mother, desperately clinging to him, refusing to let him go, and living in denial about what happened for the rest of her life. Children shouldn't go before their parents.

They give him time. He doesn't know how much, doesn't care. Time doesn't mean anything to him now.

He feels her shift by his side, but her fingers never move away from his, she doesn't want to let go and truthfully, neither does he.

And his mother, his sweet mom… She feels and smells the exact same as she did thirty years ago, her arms are home. She is home ; she is the smile that greets you after an exhausting day, she is the warmth that spreads through your body when she hugs you, and she is the feeling of being loved no matter the years and the trials.

He takes in a shaky breath.

"I…"

 _I can't_. He almost says it.

Almost.

"Give it to me."

He catches exactly the moment all of her hopes are crushed. It's in her eyes, all over her face. _Let's call it hope_. _Hope is everything_.

A sob above his head. Vera's arms tighten around him as Abby brings the glass closer to his face. He opens his mouth, and after an instant of hesitation, the glass is tilted. He feels the cold liquid on his tongue and down his throat.

He does it. He swallows.

Once empty, the glass is taken away from him, his eyes are closed, he hears it shatter on the other side of the room.

He's still breathing.

"In peace, may you leave the shore."

It's not the voice he expected. Not the voice that whispered the Blessing hundreds of times on the Ark. It's because, he realizes, his mother isn't able to utter a single word, the heart-wrenching sobs that are tearing up her throat won't let her. She's holding on him so tightly he knows he's going to be bruised in the morning. _Except that I won't see the morning_. _The sun will continue to shine and the wind to blow, and I'll be gone_.

After a moment, he realizes that he too, is crying.

His free hand grasps his mom's arm on his chest, and he's so scared, terrified, that he wishes she'd hug him like she did so many times when he was a child, hug him and tell him it's all going to be okay, and that she'll be here with him when he wakes up.

But he will never wake up.

When Bellamy beats him for the first time at the shooting range. _Pride_. When Clarke hugs him and tells him she's happy for him and Abby. _Surprise_. When Vera randomly kisses the top of his head while he's going over mission reports in front of the whole camp. _Embarrassment_. When Raven gives him advice for his date night, and winks at him from the other side of the room with a smirk on her face. Exasperation.

When Abby takes his hand, laughs at his confusion, and pecks him on the nose. _Love_.

 _I'm going to miss all of this_ , one of his last thoughts is. What he doesn't think about, is that he'll actually never miss anything anymore. He'll never feel any of this anymore.

Every sound seems distant to his ears. His senses are muffled.

The last thing he feels is the feather light touch of Abby's lips on his.

He doesn't hear the _May we meet again_.

He doesn't see how Abby crumbles down on his chest.

He doesn't hear his mother's wail of sorrow and pain.

It's too late.

A pyre is organized, grounder style. Raven found old video surveillance footage, and plays the best parts before the fire is lit, before his lifeless body is carried to rest on the pile of the wood. On the screens are moments of Marcus Kane's life on the Ark, a last _au revoir_ to celebrate life, and not death. His ashes are buried under the Eden Tree. Two weeks later, the leaves fall, and the branches break.

It's even worse than he thought it would be. In a way, it's a good thing that he isn't here to see it. See his mother slowly decline, lose weight, never smile again. She lets herself go. There's no point anymore. Earth isn't worth living alone.

Abby wonders if this is how she will be if Clarke leaves this world before her. Probably.

"I'm not as strong as you are, Abby. I can't do this."

 _I'm not strong_.

What Vera doesn't know is that Abby cries herself to sleep every night. She abandons her old quarters. In his bed, she breathes in his scent from one of his shirts, clutching to her chest a picture of them, smiling in the sun. She doesn't move any of his stuff, everything is just like he left it, the jacket hanging loosely on the back of a chair, the book he never finished on the nightstand, and the small wooden piece he was sculpting for her. It's not finished, and no matter how many hours she spent trying to find out what he had in mind, she never figures it out.

Her worst fear is to forget what he looks like. _Looked like_. To forget the moments they spent together, the best and the others, the arguments and the shared looks, the touches, _oh God_ , the touches, the feel of his hands on her skin.

Many times, day and night, she would run her fingers in her hair, doing her best to picture his instead, but it always failed. It just didn't feel the same. It doesn't take long for her to forget what it ever felt like.

Time heals everything. Sometimes it does feel like it, when she focuses so much on her work that any other thought leaves her brain, when she worries about her daughter that no one can exist in her mind, and then it all comes back. Jackson quickly learns to never rest his hand on her shoulder because that's where _his_ hand used to be. A ghost pain.

 _We're in this together._

 _I can't do this again._

 _May we meet again. We will._

* * *

It's a lot different than the style I usually write in. At first it wasn't supposed to be shared on AO3, but I decided, why the hell not, and I'd love to have as much feedback as possible on this.


End file.
